How Could Ignorance Be Compared To Bliss?
by coralvortex
Summary: Delilah had always wandered through life as a passive participant. That changes due to a class project; she searches for answers to questions she's never considered before and looks for people she didn't think she would have an interest in. Soon she finds herself in the middle of an investigation for something she never really cared about. Will her heart survive?
1. Chapter 1

Pilot

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 **AN** : **Idk, here's the fanfiction that nobody asked for or wanted but I did anyway. I was going to make this about a hacker, (I could do it and be accurate and stuff if you guys want that, but…) I felt like that's common in Death Note fanfictions; and I'm going to be going into a cyber security type major next year so my Mary Jane alarm was going off and I'm not about that self-inserted writing life.**

 **Also writing in third person is newish for me and it's super fun. If anyone has criticism, tips, advice, or anything really— please say something! Input on this writing style (and writing L), it would be super helpful!**

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 _"Most painting in the European tradition was painting the mask. Modern art rejected all that. Our subject matter was the person behind the mask."_

 _—Robert Motherwell_

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"Today," the teacher drawls out, each syllable rolling deliberately off his tongue. His hair is gelled over the top of his head, but it still manages to bounce with each word, "I will be assigning a project that will be due in a month." He pauses and his eyes drift off, staring at the patterns on the ceiling for a moment before he returns his concentration; if one hadn't dealt with him before, they would think he was rolling his eyes. "It will be focusing on current events. I don't care what you do; as long as it's not Kira. Kira is too easy and everyone is talking about it. Furthermore, I want to see the emotions in your work. I want," he drifts off again, this time his eyes following the hands of the clock. Abruptly he starts speaking again, "I'm leaving now." His student remained unsurprised, after so many class periods being cut short by the teacher, all the students had grown to accept and expect it. "You can pick if you sketch, take a photo, paint, use clay, or whatever." The teacher failed to realize that he was currently instructing a clay modeling class and the students neglected to correct him.

The art majors began to rumble with creative energy buzzing among them. As different ideas began to form people with like minded plans clumped together, discussing how to execute the project. Among the students who had yet to pick an idea, or even talk to their classmates, was a girl named Delilah. She was particularly happy with the creative freedom given in the assignment, opting to paint. Her paintings were never put up in an art gallery and her classmates never complimented her abilities with a brush, but it didn't deter her; she painted mostly because she liked the smell of fresh paint and the feeling of a new brush.

After the teacher left, the students waited a few moments before filing out of the classroom as well. Delilah lets her shoes slide quietly along the floor as she glides to the exit. When she pops out of the main building, she finds herself flowing along with a crowd of students, lost in her thoughts. She allows herself to robotically follow the crowd, assuming that her peers won't steer her wrong. Her mind wanders as she tries to think of something that would be suitable for the assignment. She had never concerned herself with the outside world before and to start now would be alarming.

Suddenly Delilah walks into a person that had stopped walking. She looks up at single student to find that she was part of a cluster of students, all gathered around some tall fence. Delilah wasn't aware of the campus's set up entirely, being new at the university and Japan in general. Curious as to what has captured her peers' attention, she steps off the sidewalk to an unpopulated section of grass next to the fence.

As Delilah gazes into what she now recognizes as a tennis court, her eyes follow the ball that's getting whacked back and forth with such tenacity and resolve; she was skeptical that this was just a tennis match. She identifies one of the boys that's playing as someone who had spoken at the entrance ceremony. She hadn't paid much attention to what the two boys had said, but one of them had such bizarre attire that he had held a lasting impression on her.

Delilah gave a devoid sigh and picked a shaded spot under a big tree. She sat with her notepad, first sketching out a detailed picture of both opponents in the tennis match, then she moved on to different expressions in the crowd, so she could later paint them accurately.

Soon the game is over, and little to Delilah's knowledge (or maybe she just didn't care) the door to get out of the court was right in front of the tree where she sits. Her sketches lay in front of her, a rock sitting in the center of each one to hold them in place, and discourage the wind from stealing them. The clang of the metal tennis court gate alarms Delilah; her eyes shoot up and she finds the two boys talking among themselves. Delilah, internally cursing herself for not paying attention, jumps up to confront the boys; she needs to find out who had won for her painting.

"Excuse me." Delilah says carefully stepping over her sketches.

The boys break away from their conversation. The brown hair boy's eyes snap over to Delilah, yet the other boy's eyes were caught on her sketches. Delilah, focusing on the one that is paying attention to her, asks, "Who won?"

The one with brown hair smiles and responds, "That would be me."

He said it hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck feinting embarrassment, a more observant person would have noticed this. Delilah nodded uninterested at the boy, his subtle actions lost on her.

"For now," says the other boy, drawing his eye from the sketches finally.

"I wouldn't say that Ryuga." The brown hair boy says. His artificial embarrassment from the victory beginning to diminish, perhaps because Delilah won't notice either way.

Ryuga says nothing to the brown hair boy and instead speaks to Delilah, "I like your drawings. I noticed that you have one of me; can I have it, or buy it?"

Delilah looks at Ryuga and replies after a moment, "I may be using it for a project, you can have it after I'm done with it."

Ryuga, displeased, doesn't press the issue directly and instead asks, "What's this project?"

Delilah boring of the company says flippantly, "It's just an assignment to paint something current in the world."

Ryuga responds easily, "A tennis match doesn't seem like a current event noteworthy enough for the assignment."

"Well maybe I won't uses the drawings for the assignment. Maybe I'll make the painting anyway." Delilah states growing quite upset with Ryuga, not only had he made her question her only idea, he keeps hassling her about the drawings. Normally she would give people the sketches they ask for, mostly because she's impartial to her creations, but for some reason she just wants to annoy Ryuga.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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 **AN: I normally don't do a 'previously' type thing, but I feel like last chapter stopped a bit abruptly so…**

 **(Note that if you humans like the 'previously' type stuff just tell me because I'm happy to do it.)**

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 _"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."_

 _—William Shakespeare_

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 _—Previously—_

 _Ryuga responds easily, "A tennis match doesn't seem like a current event noteworthy enough for the assignment."_

 _"Well maybe I won't uses the drawings for the assignment. Maybe I'll make the painting anyway." Delilah states growing quite upset with Ryuga, not only had he made her question her only idea, he keeps hassling her about the drawings. Normally she would give people the sketches they ask for, mostly because she's impartial to her creations, but for some reason she just wants to annoy Ryuga._

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After the conversation with Ryuga, Delilah quickly gathers her things, including all of the sketches, shoving them in her backpack, and leaves the two boys. She seethes in silent resentment—Ryuga had made her work all for naught. She internally scolds herself for not considering the possibility that the project would not work out, but the way Ryuga said it made her feel inferior to him. Which she refuses to allow.

Walking carefully along the edge of the sidewalk, Delilah makes her way home. Her shadow following like a ghost, as the sun leans slightly towards the earth, getting ready to retire. Delilah shivers as her hair gets combed gently by the soft breeze.

The girl walks, focusing on her goal to return to the measly apartment that she virtually worships, due to it being a domain of her own. As she lugs her mediocre drawings in her bag, the girl is unaware that she currently has two pairs of eyes on her. One looks upon her from the false heavens and the other peers around corners careful to remain in the shadows that the girl was so accustomed to.

The deity in the heavens is a winged creature, her eyes almost melting into her skull. The gaunt being has dull, gray, peeling skin that's drawn taut against her pointy bones. The other-worldly organism was so appalling that some would go so far as to call her a monstrosity. She has labeled herself with a name that fit her shocking appearance: Kaibutsu. It wasn't that she thought herself to be a monster, as the name suggested. She just enjoyed the sound of the word; it was purely an additional benefit that the word meant monster. Kaibutsu is a proud Shinigami. She doesn't stray from the realm where she lives, unlike the others, and she does not hold an interest in the human world.

Shinigami live in, what one who has no knowledge of, could only assume to be: hell that has been hidden within heaven. Creatures that only hunger for the destruction of life live there; yet that is not entirely true. Three of these creatures that thirst for death are with Delilah in her world, the first two being other Shinigami or Gods of Death, and the last being a male, which, if you consult him on the matter, is God as well.

Kaibutsu had no interest in Delilah as a human. Kaibutsu merely had an interest in taking Delilah's remaining life span. The life span was of an average length for a human, as far as Kaibutsu knew. There wasn't anything that the clueless girl had done, she merely was the first human that the Shinigami had seen when she decided to make her own life span longer. Delilah is simply cursed with poor timing. The man trailing Delilah had saved her life; Kaibutsu was hypocritically curious as to what this human male is going to do. She hasn't killed Delilah merely due to the company that Delilah has.

The man that follows Delilah so carefully, isn't intentionally saving Delilah's life, yet he isn't trying to end it either. He's following Delilah under the orders of a man that holds more authority than himself. This meager servant's name is unimportant, but the man who sent him was none other than the great L. Although the man was at first curious why L had called in his favor. This man's duty is simple: he is to break into this girl's home and steal her backpack. The man doesn't understand what L would want with this girl, who has proven to be oblivious to the world; but the man refuses to question someone as intellectually superior to him, as L. Perhaps if he would have questioned L, he wouldn't be dying in few moments.

Kaibutsu, boring of the man's sneaking around and not making any grand moves, decides that she would kill him in place of Delilah. He has a longer life ahead of him and he irritates her with his sneaking around; this making him a perfect candidate. The lazy Shinigami uses the default method to kill the insufficient human, not wanting to bother putting thought into the tedious task. As the man writhes on the ground, heart convulsing painfully, he reaches out to the young girl he had moments ago been hiding from. In a desperate attempt to save his own life he gathers his breath in for one final battle cry or perhaps a cry for attention. As the air gathers in his lungs, his eyes grow wide as he reaches his hand towards the girl, his window of opportunity slipping. The girl slides into the apartment building and the air in his lungs leaves, no sound coming out.

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 **AN: I know it's short, but I'll be updating every week now. My goal is to start releasing 3,000 – 5,000 words per chapter. I have big plans for this fanfiction. Also, I won't be following the anime word for word and scene by scene because I want more creative power in this story. I really like this way of writing; it's super enjoyable to write and I like the flow of the story. Please tell me if this chapter makes sense, I really enjoy this chapter, but it could just be because I wrote it.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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 **AN: Your reviews have been lovely, yet I fear you guys are believing me to be cleverer (more clever is grammatically incorrect, apparently) than I am.**

 **SO without further delay: Chapter 3**

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 _"'It often seems to me that's all detective work is, wiping out your false starts and beginning again.' Yes, it is very true, that. And it is just what some people will not do. They conceive a certain theory, and everything has to fit into that theory. If one little fact will not fit it, they throw it aside. But it is always that fact that will not fit in that are significant."_

 _—Death on the Nile-By: Agatha Christie_

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A pale detective is hunched over in a way that would appear to be damaging to his spine, but regardless, he holds himself that way, by choice. He exits a hospital, leaving one of his task force members inside, recovering from a heart attack. Following behind him is a suspect that he believes to be Kira, a murder that is very good at what he does, yet he's only seven percent certain—or so he says. As they walk, illuminated by the dim moonlight the suspect declares something, stopping the genius in his tracks.

"Ryuga," the suspect says, "what would it take to convince you that I'm not Kira?"

Ryuga pauses, wheels turning in his head. Marking the statement off as the suspect wanting to set his father at ease, he merely replies, "If you aren't Kira just leave it alone, soon the truth will be revealed."

The suspect full of aggravation, replies loudly, his voice echoes through the landscape, "I can't allow that! How do you think it feels to be accused of Kira?"

The genius's messy, black hair flops in the wind as he turns to his car for a moment, playing around with the words that were spoken moments ago. He exhausts idea in seconds and finds himself inspecting the car that is waiting for him. Imaging returning to the hotel, he takes a second to daydream of the treats that await him. He steals a longing glance at the driver's seat and sees his caregiver, Watari, speaking on the phone. It isn't unusual for Watari to take calls, but this was different, Ryuga could see the stress in the elderly man's face. The familiar face that has been a constant in his life; he can read Watari well.

Even to an outside perspective a person would be able to tell that something isn't right. The graying man's face is crumpled in thought and his brow's furled in worry.

The genius takes a step towards the car, then remembering to reply and simply says, "It was one of the worst feelings ever," to appease the person so dependently trailing him. Nonetheless, it doesn't work.

Within the car, Watari, sighs as he snaps his phone shut. He's just received news about the demise of the man L had sent. The pictures that he was directed to retrieve didn't worry L too much, but it was still disconcerting enough for him to want them in safe hands. Now that the man was dead—or rather murdered; seemingly by Kira himself, that places many questions and concerns onto the table.

Through the car, Watari could hear the muffled sounds of Yagami's son shouting at L; it was slightly distressing to the man, who had grown to feel almost like a father to L, however, he was not. He trusts that L knows his limits—or at least he wants to believe L does. Yet, inside this aging man's stomach, a seed is developing, it's grown into a looming sense of dread that this case may be L's last.

The car door swings open and the hunched detective enters the car. Watari drives away, leaving Yagami at the hospital and Yagami's son standing outside the hospital doors, watching their car disappear over the hill.

The duo sits in silence, as the car motor humming along, and the car's carriage creaking with each bump in the road. The normally headstrong Watari was uncharacteristically apprehensive.

L glances at his handler from the corner of his eyes and probes, "What was the phone call about?"

Watari intently watches the road and plainly says, "Junichi died—from a heart attack."

From L's silence, one could only assume that he was deep within thought. After an extensive minute, L finally spoke, "Where was he found?"

"Just outside the girl's apartment," his caretaker say quietly.

"Interesting."

"Quite," came a dry response.

"You know what this means," L says, mostly to himself, "If she killed him, and I'm almost certain she had to, being that he doesn't have a criminal record so it's not like Kira just happened to kill him today. There is no question about it, she is the reason he died. The only thing left is why and how. It's possible she's Kira, but it seems so foolish to kill him in front of her house—no. She could have the same ability to kill as Kira; but this means that she must have obtained his name. Perhaps by speaking to him? No, he was told not to approach her. Does this she got his name without directly interacting with him?"

The genius trails off, leaving Watari to follow the flow of the road, back to the where the task force is stationed.

After a moment L speaks again choosing his words carefully, "If she doesn't need a name, like the original Kira does, this puts me in danger; she has my face." L peers at the window, starting at his reflection in the glass, "There is a good chance if she realizes who I am: I'll die." The detective pauses, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip, "We'll need to gather the task force and explain to them this development. We'll need as much information on this girl as possible."

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 **AN: I'll never get tired of this writing style. Criticism is welcomed with open arms! Please tell me if I'm writing a character weird or something. Also I'm going to be sticking to canon until Delilah gets further integrated into the story. Next chapter will probably be fleshing out Delilah!**


	4. Chapter 4 (Re-upload)

Chapter 4

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 **AN: I keep forgetting to tell you guys: this story is on a schedule now! I'll be posting every Wednesday.** **J** **I really hope you guys are reading the quotes I put in front of each chapter, they play into the story quite a bit.**

 **Also thank you very much for the input 1Laure-Lo! :D**

 **P.S. Special thanks to 1Laure-Lo and castilexo for telling me that I needed to re-upload this chapter!**

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 _"It's so difficult, isn't it? To see what's going on when you're in the absolute middle of something? It's only with hindsight we can see things for what they are."_

 _—Before I Go to Sleep-By: S.J. Watson_

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Delilah lays in the darkness of her room, thinking up ideas for her assignment. For a few moments she considers logging into her computer to look at the news, but the foolish girl believes it would be more genuine if she remembers a news article herself—by doing this she hopes she'll be more emotionally invested in the project. While searching the depths of her mind for something, the world suddenly was illuminated in red and blue. The girl stands from her flopped over position on her hard floor and gazes out the window.

The offending light was so bright that, for a few moments, she stares blindly, trying to make out images. Once the girl's eyes adjust she sees a morbid sight. An ambulance is parked in front of the apartment, police are blocking off the road, and first-responders are lifting a corpse onto a gurney. The young girl's morbid curiosity gets the better of her, so she sits by her window and watches the police work.

There are people being questioned by police; they are only what Delilah could assume to be people who witnessed the man's death. As if spellbound by the events unfolding outside her window, the girl rises. She makes her way through her ratty apartment and out the front door. The girl stands outside, attempting to listen to what the people are saying, trying to absorb their words carefully. She wishes to know all of the information being spoken at the crime scene.

The girl is selfish through and through, on some level, it's believed, she is also aware of this. She only cares about things when they directly concern or interest her. In a world that is dictated by action or inaction, empathy or apathy, gods and devils; this girl, feeble in mind, yet, great in matter, is trying to pass through life without participating. She doesn't plan to pick a side. History always is shown in black and white. Sure, in the present, the looking glass for moral correctness is blurry at best, a mix of black and white: gray. But, to believe that the girl won't have to pick a side, in the end, is foolish; soon that decision will be thrust upon her. Will she pick black or white? Will she strive for action or inaction?

Delilah leans up against the siding of her apartment, eyes closed in an attempt to focus on understanding what people are saying on the other side of the street. She perks up when she finally discerns a pair of loud voices.

"Do you think it was Kira?" an excited voice asks, Delilah gasps lightly, remembering her teacher had also mentioned the name. She now knows that Kira means whatever caused a man's death, but she still couldn't use it for her project, "We'll have to tell the Chief, if it was," the person continues.

"Of course it was Kira," an annoyed voice replies, "I just wonder what this dude did to get on Kira's hit list. This guy isn't a criminal; I only see a few parking tickets when I run his ID through the system."

"Do you think L already knows?!" his partner wonders aloud enthusiastically.

"Who knows, man." A bored voice replies, "I'm just sick of cleaning up all of the bodies Kira's left sitting around."

Delilah's brain begins whirling with this new information.

The knowledge of L and Kira wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary for a person who regularly pays attention to the outside world, but Delilah, as she proves, time and time again, is ignorant to her surroundings.

Delilah retreats into her home and begins searching on the internet for an entity named 'L'.

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L sips a cup of tea that Watari prepared for him. He carefully scrutinizes the bitter flavor of the liquid until remembering it still needs sugar.

After plopping in a large amount of cubes, the genius was satisfied enough to continue his research. Feeling the scratch of left over sugar between the tips of his fingers and the keyboard, he punches in Delilah's full name. It had been easy for him to find, she was in the schools database after all.

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Delilah is thrilled with what she's found, she couldn't help but think how flawless it is. L is so dynamic with emotions: valiantly saving the day, mysteriously unknown, and aggressively challenging Kira. L is a perfect muse for her project, the mask this entity displays is benevolent and heartless. Yet, she would need to examine this human, or group, closer if she ever wants to make the project accurately.

Before the girl could start thinking of the logistics though, her mind jumps rapidly to the next subject matter. Spitefully she begins thinking of Ryuga, knowing that he can't say, 'L isn't relevant,' pleases her. She yearns for her next encounter with Ryuga, in order to rub it in his face.

Shyly, the girl looks outside and finds it's morning. Shrugging a blanket off her shoulders, she vows to herself that Ryuga would not be finding out how long it took her to only research the past cases of L. The girl flops onto her bed, letting the warmth of the sun heats her back as she falls asleep to the sound of the birds waking.

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As night melts into day the ruthless detective has consumed any and all information about this 'Delilah' girl. He found only average things. She was a girl that was plainly and simply ordinary, he had nearly fallen asleep reading all of the information.

Delilah grew up in an average home, L was nearly surprise her parents didn't have 2.5 children. The family's income was average, her mother is a teacher and her father sells insurance. When it came to intellect weighed by the education system, she wasn't lacking, yet she wasn't exceeding either: a C average. The only thing varying in her life, that she had done, was coming to Japan as a transfer student from Canada. Her major of choice, art. L couldn't help but think it's bizarre that an ordinary girl, such as Delilah, would make anything that looks extraordinary enough to be called art.


End file.
